Always
by Hecate's Wrath
Summary: Demelza says goodbye.


AN: Inspired by a poem written by one of my classmates whose sister was killed recently.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

(Dear Colin)

She writes and the quill shakes in her hand that is all she can write for today. Demelza has never been one of those emotionally strong people and this pain is still too new and too fresh and she's not ready for closure, not yet, and so she sets the quill down for today.

Seventeen is too young for heartbreak, but Demelza can't breathe because it feels like all the little pieces of her heart are choking her.

* * *

(I miss you.)

Those three words come after the two before and they're empty and don't express what she wants to say; they don't have anything to do with the words that are clawing at her throat, scrambling to get out and all Demelza can write is "I miss you" to her hero, to the boy-man she fell so hard in love with.

She sets the quill down and walks away, bitter disappointment in her inability to write her pain on paper boiling in her stomach.

* * *

(I just want to see you again.)

Those seven words make Demelza sick and she spends hours heaving bile into the toilet because she wants him so badly. She misses his hair and eyes and smile and freckles and kisses and smell and energy and his clothes and his hands and his love and she misses him and she'd give everything just to see him again.

* * *

(It is not fair.)

Those four words aren't much better than "I miss you," but, for all that they make Demelza sound like a small child who's lost her favorite toy, they express her pain better than "I miss you."

Those four words let Demelza express the girl inside of her that's screaming and crying and ripping out her hair, her throat raw as she screams for the whole world to hear how it's just not _fair_.

It feels _good_ to write those words and Demelza writes them over and over again _everywhere_—on the back of bills from the Ministry, on the walls, on her arms and her legs and she writes on the table—"It is not fair" is all over Demelza's life and Demelza is against the wall, her fingers tangled in her hair as she chest heaves and she _screams_ that it's _not fair_.

* * *

(I can't _breathe_ without you. I can't _live _without you—this isn't right, because you fought, harder than anyone, and you just—I can't do this without you. I can't.)

It is the most Demelza has written in one sitting. It should feel like progress, but it doesn't. Demelza's not ready for closure, and that's why she's writing this and it feels like _cheating_ and maybe moving backwards, but definitely not progress.

Because she still _misses_ him. And progress would be smiling and flirting with other guys and not feeling like she's dying every second of the day because Colin is _dead_ and what is there to live for anymore?

It's not fair and it's not progress and Demelza is _dying_.

* * *

(I wish I could be an angel, shed these earthly things and grow a pair of feathered wings and then I could just _see_ you again. Gravity is the only thing keeping me here and I wish someone would just _AK_ me, because surely death is easier than this slow torture.)

It feels like drowning, but Demelza can still breathe through this pain.

Today she is sitting in a coffee shop next to Morag and Anthony and Emma and Ginny and Luna and all these other people and it's something called a "therapy group" and they're supposed to _talk_ about what happened.

And Demelza does fine for the first fifteen minutes, because she doesn't have to say anything. The witch leading is wearing cool blue and she talks about loss and closure and _feeling better_ and _moving on_.

Demelza only came because Morag dragged her out of the flat.

Then the witch turns to Demelza and asks her if she'd like to share and Demelza pukes lukewarm tea all over the witch's cool blue robes and she runs out.

Share about what, she wants to scream. About Colin? Like he's some present, some toy, some story that doesn't _mean_ anything? About fighting and dying and all the goddamned sacrifices she gave and didn't get jack shit back? Share about _what_?

The next group she goes to is led by a man in Muggle trousers and a brown turtleneck. Demelza is in with a bunch of strangers and when the man asks if she'd like to share, Demelza just shakes her head and sips at her tea, drowning quietly.

* * *

(This hurts.)

That's all she writes today, just those two words, because she hurts so bad it's hard to breathe, let alone write.

* * *

(I love you.)

It's little things like this Demelza misses.

She saw a couple yesterday—a Muggle couple, because neither of them had that haunted, broken look that all the wizards do.

But they were beautiful.

And part of Demelza wished that she and Colin could have been Muggles and lived happily ever after and it _hurts_ that that was ripped away from her and it's not fair, and she is still so hard in love with Colin.

She sets the quill down and walks away.

* * *

(I love you.)

She writes it again, the next day, as if it could make him just pop out of the closet and say "Here I am, Demy!" and she would smack him for the use of her ridiculous nickname and he'd kiss her and tell her he loves her and things would be better.

But it doesn't, and Demelza sighs because Colin is _dead_ and dead men don't say I love you.

They're cold and silent and break hearts.

* * *

(Love always,)

That's all she writes today. Love always, because she will always, always, always love him and death doesn't stop that.

Love always, because she always will.

* * *

(Your Demy)

_His_ Demy, because she is.

Because she can't belong to anyone else, because she gave herself away when she was seventeen and a hero and at war to a boy with freckles and messy hair and a serious case of hero-worship. He holds her heart and she is _his_.

Always.

* * *

She sets the quill down and folds the letter up and takes it to a grave on a hill, under an oak tree. And she sits, for a long time, still and silent, with the letter in her hands.

Then she sets the letter on the grave and walks away.

Next week, she will share with her group—about the boy she fell in love with and who died before his time. And she will tell them about his hair and his eyes and his smile and all the things she misses and they will tell her they are sorry and she will tell them that she is always always his.

Always.

* * *


End file.
